


One Last Kiss Before I Go

by petrichorister



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kissing, Tumblr Prompt, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2020-08-13 10:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20172994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrichorister/pseuds/petrichorister
Summary: A battle against bandits takes a sour turn, and Cyrelion’s judgment is maybe not the best.





	One Last Kiss Before I Go

**Author's Note:**

> Backposting this fic after someone reminded me that it exists. This is from an old tumblr askbox prompt -- I'll see if I want to bother backposting the other two fics that came out of the same prompt.
> 
> The prompt: Last surprise kiss before I go off and do something dangerous: In Which a battle against bandits takes a sour turn, and Cyrelion’s judgment is maybe not the best
> 
> Warnings: Graphic (canon-typical, and probably inaccurate when compared to real combat) violence and (non-major character) death.

From where they stood, the options were limited.

When Cyrelion and Njada had arrived at the fort, they’d cleared out most of the bandits in the courtyard fairly quickly -- a destruction mage and a strong warrior typically made a hell of a team. Before they’d finished, however, one bandit had escaped further into the fort, alerting others of their presence.

Now, as they watched from their hiding spot in the tower, it was clear that there were far more inside than they’d anticipated. It would be a difficult fight, to say the least.

Njada winced when she felt Cyrelion’s hands on her arm. When she wrenched her head around to look at him, she noticed the somber look on his face and the blood soaking his gloves. Her blood. In the heat of battle, she hadn’t noticed the gash that he was now holding shut.

Pain gave way and warmth spread over her arm as Cyrelion focused his magicka reserves on a healing spell. “I’m fine,” she muttered, trying to move free of his grip.

“Don’t be stubborn. You’re bleeding.” His hands stayed firmly in place. “Your arm’s no use in battle if you lose too much blood.”

She sighed in resignation and relaxed her arm to let him finish. Loath as she was to admit it, he was right. A bad shield arm could mean death, if she wasn’t extremely careful.

When Cyrelion let go of her, she was quick to run her fingers over where he’d been. He was a decent healer- if not for the tear in her sleeve, it was as though she’d never been cut. When she flexed it, testing it, the skin didn’t threaten to break again. She’d be well enough to go to battle, surely.

Njada turned to the window again, careful not to be seen by the bandits below. There were fifteen of them, at least. If they were careful, though, she and Cyrelion could win. Bandits were careless, unorganized. She knew to pick off the archers first, while she let her husband distract the rest with a spell. Lightning might be his best bet, but she’d hear him out for alternatives. Then she could focus on the stronger combatants while he killed off the weaker ones. It’d be tough, but it would work.

The important part was the planning.

His hands smoothed over her shoulders when she turned back to face him. “There’s too many of them out there,” he said, somber.

“Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Your arm-”

“Is fine.”

Cyrelion’s lips pressed to a hard line as he stared her up and down. “That was a lot of blood. Best that you lay low until we get back to Whiterun.”

“Cyr, I’m _fine_.” Njada tested her arm again. “We just need a plan, and we can take them down.”

“I _have_ a plan.”

“And that is?”

He paused for just a moment as he looked over her face. His brow furrowed, his lips pursed, and his hands tightened their grip on her shoulders. 

And then, he leaned into kiss her.

His mouth was soft, tender on hers. His hands moved from her shoulders to cup her face as he pulled himself closer. The kiss was both desperate and gentle, light and lingering. It was… _sweet_, in its own way, though it had certainly taken her aback.

Before she even had time to react, he pulled away again. “A kiss for luck,” he murmured. His eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“The plan, Cyr.”

“Right.” He took in a deep breath and clapped a hand down on her shoulder. “Plan is, you stay up here and stay safe. I’ll be back for you.”

“_What?”_

He didn’t bother to answer her. Another quick press of his lips to hers and he was off, running for the doorway. His fingers reached for the fasteners on his robe, nimbly undoing them and shucking the whole thing off in a pile at the top of the stairwell.

Njada didn’t dare yell after him, lest she give away their location, but she cursed him inside her head. If he was about to do what she thought he was about to do, there was a very good chance he’d get himself killed. And if he did that… she didn’t want to think about it.

A howl from the base of the tower told her everything she needed to know.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. She grabbed her sword and her shield, and off she went, down the stairs behind him. 

By the time she reached the base of the tower, the bloodbath had already begun. Cyrelion tore into the first few combatants, his claws and snout drenched in their blood. Her husband was not typically the most vicious of warriors, preferring to stand back and do his work from afar, but in the beast form he was aggressive, forceful, and careless.

Njada made her way around the fight, up to the walls surrounding the courtyard. Five archers in total were there, and they were less heavily armored. She could kill them easily, but they had the advantage of distance.

She sliced through the first archer, watching the blood spill from the woman. The archers were so focused on what was going on in the center that they hadn’t even noticed her coming.

As she dashed towards the next in the row, a movement out the corner of her eye gave her pause. The archer farthest away- a Bosmer with flaming red hair and a bloody handprint for warpaint- had shot an arrow into the middle of the fray below. The arrow soared through the air, whizzing by the crowd of bandits, and hit Cyrelion square in the back. On impact, Cyrelion’s claws sunk deeper into the bandit he’d been attacking and he pulled, ripping the bandit’s arm clean off. The howl of pain he let out was unmistakable, yet he didn’t collapse, didn’t stop long enough for one of the bandits surrounding him to do any significant damage.

At that, Njada lunged forward again, doubling her efforts. The next archer went down easy. She bashed him with her shield before running him through on her blade, and she watched the blood spill from his mouth before she drew her sword out to move on to the next.

The next two went down similarly, but all the while Njada was watching the Bosmer at the end carefully. That one let three more arrows fly. One missed, landing in the ground beside Cyrelion’s feet. Another hit one of the bandits by accident. The third, however, held true, and hit Cyrelion in the shoulder.

Njada dashed forward as the fourth archer fell, running at the Bosmer full force. She knocked her over with the brunt of her shield. Before the woman could get up, Njada placed her foot square on her chest. She stared the Bosmer down for a few moments, letting her know exactly what she was up against. Perhaps it was honor, perhaps revenge, but Njada thought she ought to know who killed her.

With a scowl, Njada thrust her sword in the woman’s neck and twisted it. The spray of blood didn’t bother her one bit, nor did the sight of the woman’s head rolling away a few moments later.

As she finished the deed and turned back to the courtyard, Njada couldn’t help but feel relief. Cyrelion was still standing, surrounded by his fallen enemies and leaning forward on one arm. A high-pitched whimper came from his throat as he slumped further forward.

She ran down the steps to the courtyard -- to _him -_\- without another thought. His whimper slowly turned into a snarl as she approached, but she wouldn’t let it deter her. She couldn’t.

“It’s me,” she said, firm but quiet, not wanting to provoke the beast. “Cyrelion, it’s just me.”

His snarl faded once again. In that moment, he looked less like the towering beast that had just slaughtered the bandits in the courtyard, and more like a puppy with a thorn in its paw.

In spite of herself, Njada set down her weapon and reached out to stroke his fur. “Never do that again,” she said calmly as he leaned into her touch. “We plan together next time.”

He sniffed her, smearing the blood from his snout over the top of her armor, and whined. That was likely as good an apology as she was going to get in his current state.

She patted the fur before moving around to his back. The arrows sticking out were, fortunately, poorly made. Her fingers wrapped around the base of the first. “I need to see if these are lodged in the bone. This is going to hurt, alright?”

Cyrelion whined in resignation, which she could only hope meant that he understood.

Her fingers carefully twisted the shaft of the arrow. Within a moment, Cyrelion’s whine turned into a true howl of pain, and his muscles tensed. Still, the shaft moved easily, and she knew she could remove it.

She reached for the dagger in her belt with one hand and stroked his fur with the other. He tensed again when he felt her press the blade to the wound. “I’ve got to get the arrow out,” she murmured to him. “Stay still.”

With enough maneuvering of her dagger, and with a considerable amount of howling from Cyrelion, she managed to remove the first arrow, and the second came out with similar ease. When she finished, she merely went back to stroking his fur, trying to calm him. “You’ll need to heal yourself when you change back.” He didn’t respond at all this time; instead, he merely lay down and nudged her until she sat next to him, in a spot a few feet away from the bodies.

They sat like that for a while, with Cyrelion’s head in her lap as he whimpered in pain. She didn’t know how long this would last, or if she could find potions that would help him in this form. For now, she’d just let him lay there, letting the blood on his snout seep into her armor.

She wasn’t sure how long they were seated like that before the fur started retreating into his skin, his bones resettled to their original shape, and his muscles shrunk to their usual size once again. It was quick, once it started, and before she knew it he was the same Cyrelion she’d known. The very same Cyrelion, just peppered with wounds and covered in blood that wasn’t his.

He was weak when he moved again. He pushed himself up out of her lap slowly, until he was sitting upright.

“Do you have any magic?” she asked quietly. “Can you heal yourself?”

Cyrelion opened his mouth, but only a fit of coughs came out. As he regained composure, he nodded slowly. His fists balled, and he emanated the smallest hint of a golden light. His eyes shut tight in concentration.

When he finished, he slumped forward with his hands on the ground, barely holding himself up. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the wounds- badly scarred, but closed.

He would heal.

Njada cupped his face in her hands and met his eyes. “Next time, tell me your plan, alright? You’re damn lucky you’re alive.”

“Ah,” Cyrelion said, his voice creaking a bit. “I’ll, er… Yes.”

“I’m serious.” Maybe this was a discussion best left for when they were back in Jorrvaskr, but while they were here she wanted an answer. “We’re in this together. What if I listened to you?”

A smile flickered across his face before disappearing again. “I knew you wouldn’t. You’re stubborn like that.”

“You still should have told me.”

“I, well…” He sighed. “Yes, I should have. I’m sorry.”

Njada looked him over carefully as he apologized. For all her frustration, he had very nearly died. It was difficult -- not impossible, but difficult -- to begrudge him an acceptance of his apology.

“I know,” she murmured. “I know.”

Another smile crept across his face, staying longer than the last. Njada couldn’t help but smile back.

Slowly, carefully, she leaned in to kiss him. The sharp, coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. His lips clung to hers, unwilling to let go of this one small reminder that he was alive and that he hadn’t completely ruined everything.

When she did finally pull back, Njada wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up and back to your robes. We’ll just rest in the tower tonight.”

Cyrelion nodded. When she stood and offered him her arm up, he took it and pulled himself up slowly. She carefully positioned herself to help carry his weight, in case his strength gave out.

With his arm around her shoulder, and hers around his waist, they headed back to the tower in silence.


End file.
